by Homer
Who with their wonted manager will better wield the force
Of the impulsive chariot, if we be driven to fly,
Than with a stranger; under whom they will be much more shy,
And fearing my voice, wishing thine, grow resty; nor go on
To bear us off, but leave engag’d mighty Tydeus’ son,
Themselves and us. Then be thy part thy one-hoof’d horses’ guide;
I’ll make the fight, and with a dart receive his utmost pride.’
With this the gorgeous chariot both thus prepar’d ascend,
And make full way at Diomed; which noted by his friend:
‘Mine own most loved mind,’ said he, ‘two mighty men of war
I see come with a purpos’d charge: one’s he that hits so far
With bow and shaft, Lycaon’s son; the other fames the brood
Of great Anchises, and the queen that rules in amorous blood,
Aeneas, excellent in arms: come up, and use your steeds,
And look not war so in the face, lest that desire that feeds
Thy great mind be the bane of it.’ This did with anger sting
The blood of Diomed, to see his friend, that chid the king
Before the fight, and then preferr’d his ableness, and his mind,
To all his ancestors in fight, now come so far behind.
Whom thus he answer’d: ‘Urge no flight, you cannot please me so:
Nor is it honest in my mind to fear a coming foe,
Or make a flight good, though with fight; my powers are yet entire,
And scorn the help-tire of a horse; I will not blow the fire
Of their hot valours with my flight, but cast upon the blaze
This body borne upon my knees. I entertain amaze?
Minerva will not see that shame; and since they have begun,
They shall not both elect their ends, and he that ’scapes shall run,
Or stay and take the other’s fate; and this I leave for thee:
If amply wise Athenia give both their lives to me,
Rein our horse to their chariot hard, and have a special heed
To seize upon Aeneas’ steeds, that we may change their breed,
And make a Grecian race of them that have been long of Troy;
For these are bred of those brave beasts, which for the lovely boy
That waits now on the cup of Jove, Jove, that far-seeing god,
Gave Tros the king in recompense, the best that ever trod
The sounding centre, underneath the morning and the sun.
Anchises stole the breed of them, for where their sires did run,
He closely put his mares to them, and never made it known
To him that heir’d them, who was then the king Laomedon.
Six horses had he of that race, of which himself kept four,
And gave the other two his son; and these are they that scour
The field so bravely towards us, expert in charge and flight:
If these we have the power to take, our prize is exquisite,
And our renown will far exceed.’ While these were talking thus,
The fir’d horse brought th’ assailants near, and thus spake Pandarus:
‘Most suff’ring-minded Tydeus’ son, that hast of war the art,
My shaft that struck thee, slew thee not; I now will prove a dart.’
This said, he shook, and then he threw, a lance, aloft and large,
That in Tydides’ curets stuck, quite driving through his targe;
Then bray’d he out so wild a voice that all the field might hear:
‘Now have I reach’d thy root of life, and by thy death shall bear
Our praise’s chief prize from the field.’ Tydides undismay’d
Replied: ‘Thou err’st, I am not touch’d; but more charge will be laid
To both your lives before you part; at least the life of one
Shall satiate the throat of Mars.’ This said – his lance was gone:
Minerva led it to his face, which at his eye ran in,
And as he stoop’d struck through his jaws, his tongue’s root, and his chin.
Down from the chariot he fell, his gay arms shin’d and rung,
The swift horse trembled, and his soul for ever charm’d his tongue.
Aeneas with his shield and lance leapt swiftly to his friend,
Afraid the Greeks would force his trunk; and that he did defend,
Bold as a lion of his strength: he hid him with his shield,
Shook round his lance, and horribly did threaten all the field
With death, if any durst make in. Tydides rais’d a stone
With his one hand, of wondrous weight, and pour’d it mainly on
The hip of Anchisiades, wherein the joint doth move
The thigh (’tis call’d the buckle-bone), which all in sherds it drove,
Brake both the nerves, and with the edge cut all the flesh away.
It stagger’d him upon his knees, and made th’ heroë stay
His struck-blind temples on his hand, his elbow on the earth;
And there this prince of men had died, if she that gave him birth
(Kiss’d by Anchises on the green, where his fair oxen fed,
Jove’s loving daughter) instantly had not about him spread
Her soft embraces, and convey’d within her heavenly veil
(Us’d as a rampire ’gainst all darts, that did so hot assail)
Her dear-lov’d issue from the field. Then Sthenelus in haste
(Remembering what his friend advis’d) from forth the press made fast
His own horse to their chariot, and presently laid hand
Upon the lovely-coated horse Aeneas did command.
Which bringing to the wond’ring Greeks, he did their guard commend
To his belov’d Deiphylus (who was his inward friend,
And of his equals one to whom he had most honour shown),
That he might see them safe at fleet: then stept he to his own,
With which he cheerfully made in, to Tydeus’ mighty race.
He, mad with his great enemy’s rape, was hot in desperate chace
Of her that made it with his lance, arm’d less with steel than spite,
Well knowing her no deity that had to do in fight –
Minerva his great patroness, nor she that raceth towns,
Bellona, but a goddess weak, and foe to men’s renowns.
Her through a world of fight pursu’d at last he overtook,
And thrusting up his ruthless lance, her heavenly veil he strook
(That ev’n the Graces wrought themselves, at her divine command)
Quite through, and hurt the tender back of her delicious hand:
The rude point piercing through her palm, forth flow’d th’ immortal blood
(Blood such as flows in blessed gods, that eat no human food,
Nor drink of our inflaming wine, and therefore bloodless are,
And call’d immortals); out she cried, and could no longer bear
Her lov’d son, whom she cast from her; and in a sable cloud,
Phoebus receiving, hid him close from all the Grecian crowd,
Lest some of them should find his death. Away flew Venus then,
And after her cried Diomed: ‘Away, thou spoil of men,
Though sprung from all-preserving Jove; these hot encounters leave:
Is ’t not enough that silly dames thy sorceries should deceive,
Unless thou thrust into the war, and rob a soldier’s right?
I think a few of these assaults will make thee fear the fight,<
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Wherever thou shalt hear it nam’d.’ She, sighing, went her way
Extremely griev’d, and with her griefs her beauties did decay,
And black her ivory body grew. Then from a dewy mist
Brake swift-foot Iris to her aid, from all the darts that hiss’d
At her quick rapture; and to Mars they took their plaintive course,
And found him on the fight’s left hand; by him his speedy horse
And huge lance, lying in a fog. The queen of all things fair
Her loved brother on her knees besought with instant prayer,
His golden-riband-bound-man’d horse to lend her up to heav’n;
For she was much griev’d with a wound a mortal man had giv’n,
Tydides, that ’gainst Jove himself durst now advance his arm.
He granted, and his chariot (perplex’d with her late harm)
She mounted, and her waggoness was she that paints the air;
The horse she rein’d and with a scourge importun’d their repair,
That of themselves out-flew the wind, and quickly they ascend
Olympus, high seat of the gods. Th’ horse knew their journey’s end,
Stood still, and from their chariot the windy-footed dame
Dissolv’d, and gave them heavenly food; and to Dione came
Her wounded daughter; bent her knees; she kindly bade her stand,
With sweet embraces help’d her up, strok’d her with her soft hand,
Call’d kindly by her name, and ask’d: ‘What god hath been so rude,
Sweet daughter, to chastise thee thus, as if thou wert pursu’d
Even to the act of some light sin, and deprehended so?
For otherwise, each close escape is in the great let go.’
She answer’d: ‘Haughty Tydeus’ son hath been so insolent,
Since he whom most my heart esteems of all my lov’d descent
I rescu’d from his bloody hand: now battle is not giv’n
To any Trojans by the Greeks, but by the Greeks to heav’n.’
She answer’d: ‘Daughter, think not much, though much it grieve thee: use
The patience, whereof many gods examples may produce,
In many bitter ills receiv’d, as well that men sustain
By their inflictions, as by men repaid to them again.
Mars suffer’d much more than thyself by Ephialtes’ pow’r
And Otus’, Aloeus’ sons, who in a brazen tow’r
And in inextricable chains, cast that war-greedy god;
Where twice six months and one he liv’d; and there the period
Of his sad life perhaps had clos’d, if his kind stepdame’s eye
(Fair Erebaea) had not seen, who told it Mercury;
And he by stealth enfranchis’d him, though he could scarce enjoy
The benefit of franchisement, the chains did so destroy
His vital forces with their weight. So Juno suffer’d more,
When with a three-fork’d arrow’s head Amphitryon’s son did gore
Her right breast, past all hope of cure. Pluto sustain’d no less
By that self man, and by a shaft of equal bitterness,
Shot through his shoulder at hell gates; and there amongst the dead
(Were he not deathless) he had died: but up to heaven he fled
(Extremely tortur’d) for recure, which instantly he won
At Paeon’s hand, with sovereign balm; and this did Jove’s great son,
Unblest, great-high-deed-daring man, that car’d not doing ill,
That with his bow durst wound the gods! But by Minerva’s will
Thy wound the foolish Diomed was so profane to give,
Not knowing he that fights with heav’n hath never long to live;
And for this deed, he never shall have child about his knee
To call him father, coming home. Besides, hear this from me,
Strength-trusting man, though thou be strong, and art in strength a tow’r,
Take heed a stronger meet thee not, and that a woman’s pow’r
Contains not that superior strength, and lest that woman be
Adrastus’ daughter, and thy wife, the wise Aegiale,
When – from this hour not far – she wakes, even sighing with desire
To kindle our revenge on thee with her enamouring fire,
In choosing her some fresh young friend, and so drown all thy fame,
Won here in war, in her court-peace, and in an opener shame.’
This said, with both her hands she cleans’d the tender back and palm
Of all the sacred blood they lost; and, never using balm,
The pain ceas’d, and the wound was cur’d of this kind queen of love.
Juno and Pallas seeing this, assay’d to anger Jove
And quit his late made mirth with them about the loving dame,
With some sharp jest, in like sort built upon her present shame.
Gray-ey’d Athenia began, and ask’d the Thunderer,
If – nothing moving him to wrath – she boldly might prefer
What she conceiv’d to his conceit: and staying no reply,
She bade him view the Cyprian fruit he lov’d so tenderly;
Whom she thought hurt, and by this means, intending to suborn
Some other lady of the Greeks (whom lovely veils adorn)
To gratify some other friend of her much-loved Troy,
As she embrac’d and stirr’d her blood to the Venerean joy,
The golden clasp those Grecian dames upon their girdles wear,
Took hold of her delicious hand, and hurt it, she had fear.
The Thunderer smil’d, and call’d to him love’s golden Arbitress
And told her those rough works of war were not for her access:
She should be making marriages, embracings, kisses, charms;
Stern Mars and Pallas had the charge of those affairs in arms.
While these thus talk’d, Tydides’ rage still thirsted to achieve
His prize upon Anchises’ son, though well he did perceive
The Sun himself protected him: but his desires (enflam’d
With that great Trojan prince’s blood, and arms so highly fam’d)
Not that great god did reverence. Thrice rush’d he rudely on,
And thrice betwixt his darts and death the Sun’s bright target shone:
But when upon the fourth assault (much like a spirit) he flew,
The far-off working deity exceeding wrathful grew,
And ask’d him: ‘What! Not yield to gods? Thy equals learn to know:
The race of gods is far above men creeping here below.’
This drave him to some small retreat: he would not tempt more near
The wrath of him that struck so far, whose power had now set clear
Aeneas from the stormy field, within the holy place
Of Pergamus; where, to the hope of his so sovereign grace,
A goodly temple was advanc’d, in whose large inmost part
He left him, and to his supply inclin’d his mother’s heart
(Latona) and the dart-pleas’d queen, who cur’d and made him strong.
The silver-bow’d-fair god then threw in the tumultuous throng
An image, that in stature, look and arms he did create
Like Venus’ son; for which the Greeks and Trojans made debate,
Laid loud strokes on their ox-hide shields and bucklers easily borne –
Which error Phoebus pleas’d to urge on Mars himself in scorn:
‘Mars, Mars,’ said he, ‘thou plague of men, smear’d
with the dust and blood
Of humans and their ruin’d walls, yet thinks thy godhead good
To fright this fury from the field, who next will fight with Jove?
First, in a bold approach he hurt the moist palm of thy love:
And next (as if he did affect to have a deity’s pow’r)
He held out his assault on me.’
This said, the lofty tow’r
Of Pergamus he made his seat; and Mars did now excite
The Trojan forces, in the form of him that led to fight
The Thracian troops, swift Acamas. ‘O Priam’s sons,’ said he,
‘How long the slaughter of your men can ye sustain to see?
Even till they brave you at your gates? Ye suffer beaten down
Aeneas, great Anchises’ son, whose prowess we renown
As much as Hector’s: fetch him off from this contentious prease.’
With this, the strength and spirits of all his courage did increase:
And yet Sarpedon seconds him, with this particular taunt
Of noble Hector: ‘Hector, where is thy unthankful vaunt,
And that huge strength on which it built? That thou, and thy allies,
With all thy brothers (without aid of us or our supplies,
And troubling not a citizen) the city safe would hold ?
In all which friends’ and brothers’ helps, I see not, nor am told,
Of any one of their exploits; but – all held in dismay
Of Diomed, like a sort of dogs that at a lion bay,
And entertain no spirit to pinch – we, your assistants here,
Fight for the town as you help’d us; and I (an aiding peer,
No citizen) even out of care that doth become a man
For men and children’s liberties, add all the aid I can –
Not out of my particular cause; far hence my profit grows,
For far hence Asian Lycia lies, where gulfy Xanthus flows
And where my lov’d wife, infant son, and treasure nothing scant,
I left behind me (which I see those men would have, that want:
And therefore they that have, would keep) yet I – as I would lose
Their sure fruition – cheer my troops, and with their lives propose
Mine own life, both to general fight, and to particular cope
With this great soldier, though I say I entertain no hope
To have such gettings as the Greeks, nor fear to lose like Troy.
